A Fair Exchange
by lookonthewritesideoflife
Summary: Prompt for the Sherlock Kink Meme. Sherlock wants Irene to give up some information she has. In exchange, Irene want's something of Sherlock's. A sweet, brown eyed pathologist. Mature Readers Only.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hi. This was written for the Sherlock Kink Meme, which propmt can be found here - .?thread=83193237#t83193237. As the rating and the prompt suggest there will be sexytimes ahappening so if that's not your thing this isn't for you. This is also unbeta'd but what is fanfiction if it isn't poorly edited pornography? Am I right?

Anyway, onwards

* * *

It was in an abandoned warehouse.

It was ALWAYS in an abandoned warehouse.

Molly slipped out of the car and hurried after Sherlock, whose long strides were already leaving her behind.

It had been a bad week for Sherlock – and therefore a bad week for Molly, who hadn't expected her two-weeks leave from Saint Baths to contain following a dead man across Europe while he looks for crucial information on Moriarty's ties to a Libyan terror cell. He had just been in her flat one day, when she had gotten home, her packed suitcase in one hand and a drained, don't-argue-with-me look on his face. They had left fifteen minutes later and they hadn't stayed in the same place for more than eight hours since.

Molly wasn't sure why Sherlock had dragged her along, but then again, asking for logic from Sherlock was like asking a physicist about string theory; there probably was an explanation but it would end up being so complex and technical that you would regret asking for an explanation in the first place.  
Or maybe he just wanted the company. The only time, during the whole trip, Sherlock had initiated conversation, was when he asked how John Watson was.

Molly caught up to Sherlock, as he stopped outside the warehouse and frowned at the door, like it had insulted his mother and his fashion sense.

'Someone's in here.' he said, obviously noticing some miniscule detail that Molly had completely failed to notice.

'That's good isn't it?' asked Molly. 'You said we're here to see your informant, yes?'

Sherlock looked at the ground in front of his feet. He knelt, looking at some indents in the muddy soil.

'It isn't my informant.'

'You sure, Sherlock?'

'I wouldn't say Ivan "Death-Grip" Malikov and I were particularly close,' Sherlock stood to his feet. 'But I am certain he doesn't wear four-inch high-heel shoes.'

Sherlock flung the door open and strode inside. Molly stood still for a moment, uncertain as to what to do, before following Sherlock inside.

Inside stood a woman. A fictional woman. The sort of woman you only saw in spy movies. No women were this glamorous in real life, and even if there were a few ladies this genetically gifted, they never just stood around in empty warehouses looking dramatic. Molly suddenly became very aware of her fly-away hair, coming lose from its pony-tail, and the jumper she had been wearing for the last three days. Molly hugged her arms tight to herself, trying to make herself smaller; even more invisible than normal.

The woman's mouth stretched into a smile. 'Sherlock.'

The dead detective nodded his head. 'Irene.'

Irene inclined her head to get a better look at Molly. The pathologist was standing slightly behind Sherlock, like a four year old behind a trusted adult. The woman arched her eyebrow. 'I see you bought a friend.' Sherlock didn't take his eyes off Irene, as though she was a deadly snake he had just found in his kitchen.

'I see you're not the friend I was expecting.'

'I'm afraid not.' Irene crossed her arms. 'Ivan couldn't make it. He got a little tied up. Not that he minded.

'So you came instead.' Sherlock stepped forwards, his hands deep in his pockets. Irene moved towards him too. Molly stood where she was. Sherlock had told her at the first sign of trouble, she was to run. Now all she had to do was work out whether this Irene woman was a sign of trouble.

Molly felt like she was.

'I couldn't just leave you waiting here while he didn't show up, now, could I?' Irene cocked her chin to look into Sherlock's eyes. 'That would be rude. So what's your girlfriend's name?'

Molly and Sherlock's voice's sounded in unison, even though Molly's was apologetic and Sherlock's was exasperated. 'We're not together.'

'Oh really?' Irene raised her eyebrows and studied Molly carefully. 'Lucky me.'

Sherlock strode between Irene and Molly's line of sight deliberately. 'What do you want, Irene.'

'Good question, Sherlock. Fair and to the point. I'm guessing you are the one Ivan was giving the co-ordinates to?' Irene took Sherlock's lack of reply as an affirmative. 'Well you will be pleased to know they are safe and sound in my possession.'

'Irene, stop being obvious.' Sherlock snapped. 'It's clear that you have the information we need. I asked you "what do you want."'

'Alright, fine. Let me think. What do I want? What do I want?' Irene tapped her lip, clearly enjoying Sherlock's frustration. 'It would be ever so kind of you to get in touch with that brother of yours and get me a new identity, could you? I've gotten bored of the old one.'

'What makes you think I'm in contact with my brother?' Sherlock looked at the wall beside them, as though he was bored.

'Please,' Irene scoffed. 'There is no way you would have gotten this far if you weren't. I'd also like a promise that at some as yet unspecified point in time, if I should require your assistance, you will come and lend me a hand. No questions asked.'

'Wrong! There will be questions asked. You don't think I'm just going to help you in whatever new game you're playing, and let you stop over whoever gets in your way. Once I find everything is completely above board, and then I'll help you '

'Awe, always so gallant.' Irene leaned around Sherlock's shoulder, trying to catch Molly's eye. 'He's a modern day knight in shining armour.'

'Do you have any other unreasonable demands to dump on me, or is that all?' Sherlock asked. Irene smirked up at him.

'Dinner?'

Sherlock laughed in a way that showed he thought this comment wasn't at all funny. 'Do you really think that's a good idea, Irene?'

The woman tilted her head. 'Oh, I don't mean with you dear. No. As appealing as the prospect of having dinner with you is, Sherlock, I'm not certain I would trust you after our last get together. Fool me once, and all that.'

Sherlock frowned. 'Then what…'

Irene shot a glace towards Molly. The pathologist could almost see the gears click inside Sherlock's head.

'No.'

'You said you weren't an item.'

'The answer is no, Irene.'

Molly's brow furrowed. 'Excuse me? What's going on?'

'It doesn't matter, Molly.' Sherlock span on his heels, turning his back on Irene. 'We're going.'

'Molly, is it.' Irene said. 'I should have guessed. You look like a Molly.'

'Sherlock,' Molly whispered as the detective stepped up to her. 'I thought you said those co-ordinates were important.' She obviously wasn't very good at whispering because Irene heard her.

'Oh they are.' Irene crossed her arms. 'They're one of a kind too.'

'Sherlock,' said Molly. 'If all I have to do is have dinner with…'

'Molly, Irene asking you to dinner is like when you ask someone up to your flat for coffee on a third date.'

'What? Oh! Oh, I see. So dinner means…'

'Yes, and when you have dinner with Irene you have dinner with a professional chef. With a bull-whip.'

Irene laughed. 'I think that metaphor got away from you there.'

Sherlock ignored her, grabbed Molly by the shoulder and tried to herd her towards the door. Irene stalked after them, her heels sounding deliberate taps on the concrete.

'This is a once in a lifetime offer, Sherlock. I know what you're planning, where you are hoping to strike next. If you don't get those co-ordinates it could be months before you can try again. Maybe years. All I want is to spend a little time with your friend Molly. I swear I'll send her back to you in one piece.' Irene caught Molly's eye and grinned. 'Well… mostly.'

Molly felt a tug somewhere below her stomach, and her mouth began forming words without running them by her brain first. 'Sherlock, I think… If these plan are very important… maybe we should consider…'

'There is nothing to consider.' Sherlock said as he flung open the door they just entered by, and pushed Molly outside. 'Good day, Miss Adler.'

'Goodbye Sherlock.' Irene called after them. 'I'm staying at 67 Norton Street, if you change your mind.'


	2. Chapter 2

It was almost eight o'clock and night, when Irene heard a rapping on her front door. The woman smiled, straightened her stylish black dress, and opened the door. Molly Hooper stood on her doorstep, battling with the remanence of an umbrella and the pouring rain. Irene had never saw someone more endearingly bedraggled in her life.

'So you two decided to take me up on my offer?' Irene smiled. Molly's eyes were huge in her small, pale face.

'One of us did.' Molly said. 'Sherlock doesn't know I'm here.'

Irene tilted her head. 'Interesting. Well, don't just stand there, come in.'

Molly entered Irene's house, leaving the uncooperative umbrella half folded on her porch. Molly's hair was covered in tiny beads of water, and the worn out jacket she had decided to wear was heavy and thick with rain.

'Sorry if I'm late.' Molly hugged herself to suppress a shiver.

'I never specified a time.'

'I know. That's why I don't know if I'm late.'

'You would have been here earlier if you hadn't spent the last forty five minutes pacing up and down the street, trying to get the nerve to knock on my door.'

Molly's face fell. 'You saw that?' Irene shrugged.

'There was nothing good on telly.'

Molly hid her face in her hands, as though Irene wouldn't be able to see her mortification, if she couldn't see Irene. She had promised herself that she was going to be bold as she went to Irene's house. Not let the other woman see how truly terrifying she felt the entire prospect was. But now Irene knew that she was anxious, the other woman already had the upper hand…

Molly's thoughts were cut off as she felt something tugging at her jacket. She lifted her hands to see Irene standing in front of her gently undoing her coat's buttons. Molly took a step back and bumped against the wall.

'What are you doing?' Molly gasped. Irene lent a hand on a hip and raised her eyebrow.

'Honestly, Molly. Don't get so worked up. I was only trying to stop you dying of pneumonia. Or do you want to stay in a sopping wet jacket?'

Molly could feel the red hot glow of embarrassment against her cheeks. She nodded and finished unbuttoning herself, while Irene helped her shrug the jacket off her shoulders, and hang it on a hook.

Molly suddenly missed the coat, when she realised that her other clothes were just as wet, and had slicked themselves to her body. Molly folded her arms around her middle and tried to hide this fact, even though it was obvious Irene had already noticed.

'You said Sherlock doesn't know you've come?' Irene asked. Molly nodded. 'How did you managed to eluded the greatest mind of his generation?'

'I snuck out while he was in this mind palace.'

'Ah. Enterprising little thing, aren't you?'

'You will give him the coordinates, won't you?' Molly blurted out. 'If I do this, you'll keep your promise.'

Irene put one hand on her heart and another in the air. 'I swear. I'm a woman of my word.'

Molly licked her lips and avoided Irene's gaze. Irene however, was studying Molly very carefully.

'However, I do have one condition.'

Molly's eyes widened. 'What? Another one?' Irene smirked.

'I want you to answer this question truthfully. And don't think about lying to me, because I can always tell, and you don't look like much of a liar.' Molly swallowed and Irene continued. 'Why did you come here tonight?'

Molly frowned and her mouth became unable to articulate answers. 'I... well... I... Sherlock... he needs my help. Even if he won't admit it, I'm the only one who can help him.'

'So you came just to please Sherlock.' Irene tutted. 'How disappointing.'

Molly rubbed her arm, trying to stop her skin from stinging. 'And... also... I was curious... a bit.'

Irene's face seemed to brighten. 'Ah curiosity is a far better reason for coming. What were you curious about?'

Molly paused. 'Why. Mainly. Why you wanted me to come. You could have asked for so many other things, I don't understand... Why me?'

Irene shook her head. 'You couldn't figure it out? Okay, I'll explain. But there are more reasons than one. Firstly, to mess with Sherlock - oh don't look that way, it wasn't the main reason. Secondly, you looked very cute in that warehouse. Small and vulnerable. I couldn't resist. Thirdly, I wanted to see how you would react. Fourthly, you looked like you had been following a insane deductive machine across Europe for a week, and probably needed a night off. And finally, because Sherlock selects the people that surround him very carefully. He can only tolerate a few people, and there are even fewer that can tolerate him. That makes you special. I want to find out why.'

'So...' Molly said slowly. 'You're manipulating me into having sex with you, because you want work me out?'

'It's how I get to know people.' Irene grinned. 'And don't worry about the sex part. I'm not going to force you to do anything you don't want to. I am perfectly content to just sit and chat.'

Molly sighed what was meant to be a sigh of relief. It didn't sound that way. And Irene heard it.

'Oh, my. Does someone sounds disappointed?'

'What? No... No I'm not. Disappointed. At all.'

'What do you know, I never thought I'd learn so much about you so quickly. I'm always pleased to be suprised' Irene moved forward running her hand up Molly's neck. 'Just so you know, while I am content to just talk the night away, I was hoping that you would be up for something a little more challenging.'

'Challenging?' Molly squeaked. 'What? I'm not... it's not...' Irene shushed her, stroking her thumb along her jaw-line.

'It's okay. I get it. Nice girl like you doesn't get into these sorts of situations often. How about we say that I've changed my mind? Unless you let me have my way with you, I refuse to give Sherlock the coordinates. You have no say in the matter, and therefore no reason to feel guilty. Am I understood?'

Molly parted her lips but no noise came out. All she could manage was a nod.

'Good girl.' Irene said, before before turning her head and studying Molly from the side. 'You know you're freezing?'

Molly shivered. It wasn't just because she was cold.

'And I don't want to seem rude, honey, but am I right in guessing you haven't had a chance to shower in the last couple of days?'

Molly looked away, suddenly very self conscious of her oily hair and dirty clothes. 'Yeah... I mean... Sherlock and I haven't been able to stay in one place for the last...' Irene stopped her babbling by pressing her thumb firmly against Molly's lips.

'It's okay, honey.' The woman murmured. 'Let's get you cleaned up.'


	3. Chapter 3

Irene's bathroom was huge. It was like what Molly imaged a roman bath to be. Instead of a normal tub or a shower, the floor in the centre of the room descended a step, leaving a square depression that, when stood in, stopped about halfway up the shin. It was like a small empty pool. Above it was a long metallic arch that connected to a detachable showerhead in the centre, and the taps on one side. Around the edge of the room was a toilet, a bidet, a basin, a rack covered in large soft-looking towels, and a bench to sit on. Molly smiled at the thought of her first shower in days. It would feel so good to be clean again.

'You look enthusiastic.' said Irene as she closed the door behind her.

'You you have no idea.' said Molly. 'If I went one more day without a proper wash, I was sure I would end up killing someone.'

'Would our mutual friend be the most likely victim?'

Molly laughed. 'Probably.'

'Well, what are you waiting for? The sooner you get undressed the sooner we can start.'

Molly took a step towards the shower but stopped. '"We" can get started?'

Irene sat on the bench and crossed her legs. 'Molly, you don't know me very well yet, but I like to make certain things are done properly. And for what I have in mind tonight, I need you to be spotless. And I'm going to make certain that happens.'

Molly's eyes widened. 'You're going to watch me shower to make sure I do it right?'

Irene gave Molly a pitying look. 'Oh, honey. You can't really be so innocent.'

Molly realised what the woman meant and hugged her wet clothes closer to her. 'Err. no. No, thank you. I'm fine washing myself. I don't need your help with that.'

'Molly, this isn't a debate.' Irene lent her chin on her hand. 'I am doing this for you, whether you want me to or not. Part of our agreement is that I get to do what I want with you for a night, and I want to do this. Now are you going to get undressed or am I going to have to do that for you as well?'

Molly stood for a moment, uncertain as to how to respond. When Molly didn't strip or respond, Irene stood.

'Very well.' Irene stalked towards Molly. The pathologist backed away into a corner of the bathroom.

'No, don't.' Molly lifted her hands in surrender. 'Okay, I'll do it. I'll do it.'

Irene crossed her arms and waited. Molly swallowed and lifted the hem of her shirt over her head, exposing her white torso and flesh coloured bra. As she let the shirt drop on the floor, Molly paused and looked up Irene, who nodded for her to continue. Molly kicked off her old, scuffed sport shoes, before tugging down her cargo pants, and dropping them on top of her shirt. She took a deep breath.

She had been naked in front of people before. Mainly doctors and the occasional boyfriend. But they had never looked at her as critically as Irene was at that second.

'Are you going to finish?' The woman asked, not unkindly, but with a definite hint of impatience.  
Molly pressed her lips together and slid her thumbs under the hem of her underpants. _Just do it, _her brain screamed. _You knew you would probably have to get naked in front of her sometime tonight. Just get it over with. Like ripping off a bandaid. Like ripping off a bandaid. Like ripping off a bandaid..._

Irene moved forward and lightly touched Molly's wrist. 'You're doing fine, you know. Don't be self-conscious. I was the one who wanted this, after all. If I wasn't interested, I wouldn't have asked.'

For some reason, Irene's words did everything Molly's own head-talk couldn't. The underwear was slipped off, the bra unbuckled, and the straps pealed from her shoulders.

Irene beamed and circled around the fully naked Molly, her eyes taking in every inch of skin. Molly forced herself to stand stock-still, her chin high, while she was forced to endure this inspection. Irene moved around in front of the pathologist and ran her tongue across the front teeth, in a calculating way.

'Yes. I think this should work out nicely. Stand under the shower. I need to collect some things from the other room.'

Molly wanted to ask what the "other things" were but Irene had already retreated. Feeling ridiculous standing naked in a stranger's house, Molly had no choice but to do what Irene asked. As Molly stepped down into the dip, she realised it was much deeper than in seemed. Irene returned to the bathroom carrying a basket full of cosmetics -shampoo, conditioner, body lotion - in one hand and some sort of sponge in the other. Molly looked up at her as the woman circled the shower, and put one hand on the tap.

'Ready?' She asked.

Molly went to nod but Irene had already turned on the tap. A blast of cold water was dumped on her and Molly gasped. Irene laughed turning the other tap, and soon Molly felt the sting of the hot shower against her naked body.

It was so glorious Molly almost forgot about Irene, not noticing the woman kneel down to wet the sponge under the water before squeezing a small amount of lotion onto its centre. She did, however, notice when Irene put one hand on her shoulder to hold her in place.

'Steady.' Irene commanded as she began her work.

Irene dragged the sponge across Molly's shoulders and collarbone in small circular movements, brushing away all the grime Molly had collected in different parts of Europe. Irene was gentle but thorough, scrubbing the same area over and over until she was satisfied. Only then did she continue downwards.

Molly had no idea how she was meant to respond to this treatment. She hadn't had another person bathe like this since she was a child, and she was sure they were never this methodical. All Molly could do was obey Irene's directions; turning around, so she could wash her back, lifting her arm so she could do her sides. She had no idea what Irene could be getting out of this, but Molly was just hoping Irene didn't notice her own pleasure, as she breathed in the citrusy scent of the soap she was using and shut her eyes.

Molly flinched as the woman ran a finger down her ribs. She looked down not see the mottled bruises that were forming there.

'Get into a scrape, did you?' Irene asked absently.

'Yeah. Back in Holland. It's fine though. Sherlock looked out for me.'

'But if it wasn't for Sherlock, I bet you wouldn't have need his help in the first place. Am I right?'  
Molly didn't answer and Irene continued, sweeping the sponge under the curve of Molly's left breast.

'Does he do this type of thing a lot? Asking things of you, but never giving back?'

'No.' said Molly, trying not to sound defensive the the woman who was taking the time to scrub her clean. 'It's not like that. I help him out. That's what friends do for each other.'

'No. Friends help each other move house, or get over their old girlfriend. Friends don't help other friends fake their death, at the risk of their own career, and then demand that they help down bring down a criminal empire.'

'How did you...'

'Molly, please. I have a brain and google. I worked it out.'

'Oh.' Water ran down Molly's face. She tried to shake it away. 'But Sherlock never demanded anything. I offered to help him.'

'Just like you offered yourself to me on his behalf? Tell me, Molly dear. Do you think he would do the same for you?'

Molly fell silent, unable to answer the question in a way that didn't make Irene sound right. The woman pursed her lips.

'I thought as much. Leg up.'

'Pardon?'

Irene pointed next to her and Molly stepped one leg up a level, setting it next to Irene. She held

Molly's leg still, as she ran the sponge from her foot, up her calf, and then along her inner thigh. Molly tried not to think about the sensation as it travelled upward, closer to her groin. Irene finished her leg and then performed the same action on the other.

'Turn around and bend over.' Irene said dolloping more lotion onto the sponge. Legs apart. 'Try and grab your ankles.' Molly jolted.

'You're kidding, right.'

'Honey, are you going to fight me every step of the way?'

Realising that it was probably silly to object after she had already come this far, Molly did as she was told, turning her back on Irene, and bending as low as she could, wrapping her hands around her lower shins. She felt Irene's hand lay firmly on the small of her back as she began to scrub Molly's hips and then her bare cheeks, occasionally gliding between them. Molly was grateful that she was facing the other direction and that the water was so warm; both, hopefully, disguising her red her face was. She couldn't however suppress a gasp as Irene's sponge slid between her legs.

'Don't get too excited, dear.' Irene called from behind her. 'This is just the preparation for the main event.'

Molly tried to reply, but the feeling of that sponge rubbing back and forth against her nether-regions had made her unable to form words. Molly forced herself to concentrate on the water running down her back and though her hair. _Breathe, Molly. Just Breathe. _Finally the sponge retreated.

'There.' Irene said, triumphantly. Molly took Irene's disappearing hand as a sign it was okay, to stand up and turn around. 'All Done. I trust you to do your own hair, Molly. Even without washing it for a week, you have lovely hair.'

'Where are you going?' Molly asked as Irene rose to her feet.

'More prep work, honey. I'll be back in a moment.'

Irene left the bathroom, and Molly reached over to take the shampoo and conditioner out of the basket and poured a little of the first into her hand. It smelt like oranges.

Molly ran the shampoo through her hair and rubbed it in, trying to be as thorough with her head, as Irene was with the rest of her body. Otherwise it would have just felt uneven. She was just finishing doing the same with the conditioner when she heard the sound of Irene's high heels behind her.

'All done?' Irene asked. Molly noticed that she had changed out of her little black dress -which had gotten splashed more than a few times during Molly's shower - into a dark, chiffon robe. She snatched the shower head from its stand and twisted the setting. 'Good.'

A cascade of water pelted against, Molly's face, making her splutter against it. The pressure heightened as Irene span Molly around, blasting off every last soap sud.

'You could have warned me.' Molly yelled over the roar of the water.

'Where's the fun in that?' Irene yelled back. With a twist of the tap the water was off and Molly turned back to see Irene leaning down and offering Molly her hand.

'Feel better?'

Molly had to admit she did. She took Irene's hand as the woman helped her out of the hole, and lead her to the towel rack. Molly reached out to take one, but Irene grabbed her wrist.

'Molly, really. You're smarter than that.' Irene said with a disappointed tone. Molly withdrew her hand and allowed Irene to pick the towel she wanted and start to dry Molly off, rubbing her so hard that her already shower-pink skin, glowed a deeper shade. It may have been Molly's imagination, but Irene seemed to take her time when it came to drying Molly's breast, hips, and behind, feeling the curves of the pathologist body as she stroked her dry. Irene eventually pulled away and inspected her handy work. She caught Molly's chin and lifted it, turning it from one side to the other, inspecting her from every angle.

'Well, Sherlock may not recognise what he's got, but I do.' She walked over to the door that connected the ensuite to her bedroom and opened it, gesturing to Molly to follow her. 'Shall we get started?'


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks for the alerts, the faves and most of all the reviews. Just a heads up, that this is the chapter where this fic starts to earn it's M rating.

* * *

Molly moved into Irene's bedroom, wishing that she had been allowed to get dressed again. Irene had brushed her off, saying that it would be ridiculous to get back into those dirty, wet clothes again, after she had just gone to all the trouble of cleaning her. 'Besides' Irene said. 'I took them down to the laundry when you were washing your hair. Don't worry. You'll get them back afterwards. If you really want them back, that is.'

'What's wrong with them?'

'Molly, you're in your thirties, and your shirt had a picture of cat with a bow on its head. Besides, those clothes do nothing for your figure.'

'They do something for my figure.' Molly murmured to herself. 'They cover it.'

The room was a dark rich blue. Everything in the room seemed thick and luscious; from the curtains that covered the windows to possibly the largest bed Molly had ever seen. Everything was the same midnight colour, with the exception of the candles that were placed on a shelf behind the head of the bed. They were thick, pillar candles, or varying heights, placed in rainbow order, from blood red through to satiny purple. Molly tried to concentrate on them, seeing as they were the only thing in the room that didn't completely overwhelm her.

'Nice candles.' Molly said, trying to cover herself as much as possible, and utterly failing. Something sparked in Irene's eyes as Molly mentioned them.

'They'll be much nicer later on.' Molly wanted to ask what she meant by that, but Irene cut her off. 'On the bed. Face down.'

Molly gulped. She had known this was coming, but it didn't mean it wasn't difficult to comply. Molly straightened her shoulders and lay down on the bed, head to one side, trying not to look at Irene as she did so. She watched as Irene's shadow moved around the bed and settle down on the edge.

'Very nice.' The woman above her purred. 'It's so good not to have to ask you twice. You know, if you were a client of mine, I would have had to discipline you repeatedly tonight.'

Molly didn't respond. She had no idea how to. She flinched as Irene trailed a finger down her spine.

'Do you always react that way when someone touches you, unexpectedly?' Irene asked. She almost sounded concerned.

'I don't know. Maybe. Probably.' Irene hummed above her, like she was considering a problem. Molly felt Irene's weight lift from the bed and move to a wardrobe at the other end of the room. It took all of Molly's willpower not to turn and see what Irene was rummaging around for. She lay still, determined, since she had to do this, to do this right. Irene moved back to her spot at the edge of the bed, and took Molly's wrist.

'Arms up.'

Before Molly could register what Irene was doing, the woman had lifted her wrist above her head and had buckled it into a leather restraint, which she then lashed to the headboard. Molly tried to tug her arm away, but Irene straddled her waist, pinning her to the bed. Irene grabbed Molly's other arm and yanked it up, strapping it to the headboard, just like the first.

'What are you doing?' Molly yelped, as Irene moved off her back and did the same with Molly's feet, spreading her legs wide open as she did so.

'It's just a precaution.' Irene said, smoothing her hand over Molly's calf. 'You admitted that you're a bit twitchy, and I'm going to need you to stay still. There could be problems if you jolted suddenly.'

'"Problems?" What do you mean "problems?"' Molly strained against her restraints but they held firm. Her limbs her spread to the point where she wasn't uncomfortable but she was completely immobilized. Molly didn't even have enough give to wiggle effectively. Irene had obviously done this before.

'Nothing you need to worry about. I told Sherlock, I would send you back to him in one piece, and that's what I intend to do. This is just to make certain.'

'Irene, I'm warning you. Untie me, now.' Molly had meant to sound threatening, but Molly wasn't good at intimidation at the best of times, let alone when she was strapped to a bed completely naked. Molly felt the scrape of nails across her shoulder-blade.

'Do you know how cute you are when your cross?'  
'Irene!'

'Shh. Calm down, Molly.' There was a click like someone popping open the cap of a bottle. 'Just enjoy it.'

Molly was about to protest when she felt oily liquid fall on the small of her back. Her own sharp intake of breath silenced her. Another dollop landed between her shoulders. Irene climbed back onto the bed again and positioned herself on top of Molly's naked behind. It was only when she felt the smooth skin of Irene's thighs against her hips, did she realise that Irene was completely naked under her chiffon robe.

Molly tried to control her breathing, to stop herself from hyperventilating.

'That's right.' Irene's voice was soothing, as her fingers massaged the oil into Molly' skin. 'Just relax. After the week you've just endured, you deserve one night of fun.'

As the oil spread across her back and along her spine, Molly let all her muscles loosen. She didn't want to enjoy this. She didn't want to relax. She wanted to be defensive and haughty and indignant, and all the other things she had never been any good at. But she didn't seem to mind that a woman she had only met that morning was now sitting on top of her. She didn't mind that she was tied down.

She didn't even mind that she was beginning not to mind.

All that remained was Irene's fingers kneading her bare back, arms and legs, and the flicker of the candle-light.

'You're going to ruin your sheets.' Molly murmured. She had no idea why _that, _of all things,was the only objection she could muster. Irene chuckled.

'It's only fun if sheets are ruined.'

Suddenly both women jumped at the sound of someone thumping their fist against Irene's front door.  
'What was that?'

'Apparently, I have a visitor.' said Irene. Her voice was low and bitter. 'Strange. I wasn't expecting anyone.'

Molly shifted beneath Irene, her worry bubbling up again. 'Do you know who it is?'

There was another set of thumps accompanied the shout of Irene's name. Both women instantly recognised that deep baritone voice.

Irene rolled her eyes. 'I have an inkling.'

'Oh damn it. Sherlock.' Molly buried her face in the pillows. 'He's going to be pissed. I thought that he'd be in his mind palace for at least a couple more hours.' Molly sighed, in a resigned way. 'Irene, untie me. I think I'd better go.'

'Molly, honey, you're not getting out of this so easily. You and I had an agreement and you're a grown woman. Mr. Holmes has no right to intrude upon it.' Irene swung her leg over Molly and knelt beside her on the bed, fiddling with her robe. Apparently it had come undone during the massage. Molly wished she knew that earlier. 'I'll go deal with him.'

'What? Irene no.' Molly pulled against her shackles and tried to look at the woman's face. 'Just leave it. I'm the one who's going to have to deal with Sherlock in the morning, anyway.'

'This isn't about him anymore.'

'Sherlock always makes it about him. That's why he's Sherlock. Please, Irene, just untie me. I don't want Sherlock to barge through the door and see me like this.'

Irene paused. 'Now there's a thought.'

'Irene!'

There was another set of bangs on the door, but this time they were quicker and heavier. The great Sherlock Holmes seemed to be getting agitated.

'Molly, take a breath. I'm not going to let him watch or anything. This is between us. Besides,' she said partially to herself, 'I'm too mad at him to give him a show.'

'Irene, he's going to know I'm here. You don't have to be Miss Marple to work out where I went. Sherlock will...'

Irene's hand shot out and grabbed Molly's upper arm. 'Honey, you're very sweet to be concerned for me, but if you say that bloody man's name one more time, I _will _gag you.' Molly's mouth fell shut. There was another bellow from the front door and Irene stood up. 'You just stay there. I'll get rid of the world's greatest detective.'

'Like I have a choice.'

Irene smiled and walked towards the door. Molly's voice cracked.

'Wait.'

Irene turned in a way that made Molly's eyes lock onto her hips. She forced herself to stammer out the words she had floating about her mind.

'In case... In case Sherlock gets his way, and I have to go... Thank you. I mean... thank you.'  
Molly hated how small her voice sounded. Irene ducked her head and looked at the floor for a moment and then walked back over to the bed. She knelt beside it, her face inches from Molly's before she reached back and laced her fingers through the hair at the back of Molly's neck. It was a gesture of comfort.

'You're welcome, sweetheart.'

Suddenly Irene yanked Molly's hair, forcing her head backwards. Molly gave a sharp cry, which was just the opportunity Irene needed to shove the gag into Molly's open mouth. It was a stuffed leather bit, attached to a muzzle so it both filled and covered her mouth, like a child's pacifier. It pressed down Molly's tongue and bruising her lips. Molly tried pull away from Irene, but the woman and the restraints held her down.

'Sorry honey, but I did warn you.' Irene said with a gleam in her eye, while fastening the tight straps to the back of Molly's head. 'Also I don't want you becoming overwhelmed with Sherlock-related guilt and calling out to him at an inopportune moment. I know you, Molly dear, and you are far too accommodating for your own good. It won't kill him not to get what he wants for once in his life, and it won't kill you not giving into him.'

Molly moaned against the gag, trying to show her indignation at being treated this way, but her voice was almost entirely stifled by the contraption. Irene lent her head to the side, and studied the face of the woman she had trussed up.

'I've changed my mind. You absolutely adorable when you're cross.'

Irene placed a swift kiss on Molly's forehead, and strode out the door, leaving Molly Hooper bare, exposed, open, bound and gagged.

Next time Sherlock Holmes faked his death, he could bloody well do it by himself.


	5. Chapter 5

It was probably the longest, most excruciating wait of Molly's life.

She didn't have much to occupy her thoughts. She strained against the leather restraints, (they didn't budge), tried to push the gag from her mouth (similar results) and strained to hear what was going on outside the bedroom.

She couldn't hear a word.

Where was all of Sherlock's yelling _now _she wanted to hear it?

In the aftermath Sherlock's "untimely demise" the detective and the pathologist's relationship had deepened. Molly thought it was because Sherlock had no one else to talk to (besides his brother, and whether he wanted to talk to him was another matter all together). But it wasn't just about him. She now had a secret she could tell no one and it was weighing her down. Dragging her, even. Somedays she wondered how she could get out of bed with this secret weighing on top of her.  
In other words, all they had was each other.

Molly's crush on Sherlock had slowly and surely dissipated. It was hard to maintain a crush on someone when they occasionally showed up at your flat in the middle of the night. smelling like a dumpster and carrying paper bags that, two thirds of the time, contained a human body part. There was troubled Byronic Hero and then there was a man with a bag full of ears. However, she had grown to care about him on a level she didn't think was possible. A level where she would be willing to do anything to keep him safe, even if that meant allowing Irene Adler to have her way with her. And Molly thought that in turn Sherlock had done the same with her. That he now saw her as someone more than the girl with the silly infatuation with him. She thought that Sherlock truly trusted her.

Obviously he didn't trust her enough to do this.

Molly lay there in silence (she couldn't do anything else) and waited for Sherlock's footsteps to stride down the corridor, for him to fling the door open, and for...  
What?

Pity? Outrage? A laugh at how ridiculous she looked splayed out on The Woman's bed?

This was one of those times when it would be good for the ground to open up and swallow her.

But then the sound came.

Not the detective's voice, or his footsteps.

It was the sound of the front door closing.

He'd gone.

Sherlock had left.

Molly had no idea what that could mean. Had Irene actually convinced him to leave? Had she managed to hide Molly's presence from the world's greatest detective? Or maybe Sherlock was so angry and disgusted by Molly that he had just left her to Irene.

Molly felt like she wanted to cry.

The door squeaked open, and Irene entered. She held her head high, like she had just one a victory.

'Would you believe it. I convinced him that I had sent you to Ettelbruck. I would go into the details, but I think we've wasted far too much time on Sherlock Holmes, don't go agree?'

Molly's eyes widened. She had managed to fool Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock greatest-deduction-machine-the-world-has-ever-seen Holmes. Molly wanted to ask how but there one leather obstacle in the way. Molly grunted impatiently against the gag, trying to get her point across. Irene strolled over to the bed, shaking her head.

'Uh-uh, Molly, you broke the rules. The gag stays.'

Molly's exclamation was muffled but its meaning was clear. Irene chuckled.

'Come on, Molly. If I took it out you would spend the entire night saying "are you sure?" and "do you think we should?" and "what would Sherlock say?" This is just to save time. And what's more,' Irene trained her finger over the strap that locked the gag onto Molly's head, 'I think it suits you.'

Molly tried to shrink away from Irene's touch, but the leather shackles kept her firmly in place. Irene stretched a hand across the restraint.

'These seem to be working nicely. Lets put them to the test.'

Irene opens the bedside table and pulls out a pair of black, latex gloves. Not the sort Molly wore when scrubbing the dishes, or even when she was trawling her way through someone's internal organs. These were custom made. Thick and tight but not clumsy and indelicate like the ones from work. They had been made with nights like this one in mind.

'I take it you're not allergic?' Irene asked. Molly shook her head. Irene climbed on the bed and took her position on Molly once more, trailing the latex along Molly's hipbone as she mounted her. Irene put one hand gently on Molly's neck, and then reached over for the red candle. Now it was clear was her intention was.

'Ready to begin, Miss Molly?'

Molly gulped around her gag.

Then she nodded.

Irene tipped the candle, letting the wax splash along Molly's spine.

Molly cried out it shock, and bucked. The wax was searing. She was certain it was going to burn her, scald her, give her blisters. It was almost unbearable. But the wax cooled quickly, too quickly to cause any real damage. Irene wrapped a hand around Molly's hip and whispered:

'It's okay Molly. I'm not going to burn your pretty pink skin. I just want you to feel the heat.'  
Molly was distracted by the sensation of the wax hardening against her back, forming a protective shell. As she breathed she could feel it tugging her skin, trying to keep it tight. Irene poured more and let the red wax dribble down between Molly's shoulder-blades. Molly closed her eyes and tried to ignore the pain. It was only temporary. She could tolerate it.

Molly began to realise that the pain was what she anticipated.

Irene set the red candle down and took the orange, drizzling it, experimentally across Molly's skin.

Occasionally she would lean down and blow on the wax, directing its path with her breath. Even with something as unpredictable as melting candles, Irene still wanted to maintain control. Molly couldn't suppress a whimper of pleasure as a trickle of wax ran down her side, against the swell of her breast, between her ribs. Irene changed candles regularly, and tried to surprise Molly as to where the wax would land next.

Purple wax ran across Molly's left forearm, capturing the tiny hairs there as it made it's path towards her wrist. Green was chosen suitable for the soul of Molly's foot. Irene enjoyed seeing Molly's toes wiggle. Blue ran down the side of Molly's right butt cheek, spreading out in all different directions, like a spiders web and yellow, well, the yellow managed to splash itself everywhere, covering up the darker colours that came before it. It didn't matter. As Irene continued every colour criss-crossed another forming a complete structure on top of Molly's skin. It was long, meticulous work, but eventually almost all of of Molly's skin was coated in wax. Molly had closed her eyes ages ago, content just to feel Irene's latex hands gently poke and prod her skin, looking for a new space to continue her art.

Molly felt Irene's weight shift around the bed. She must have been kneeling at the end of the bed, somewhere between Molly's open legs. There was the unexpected feeling of latex fingers, gently parting Molly's opening.

Molly had known this was the way things with Irene were going to end. This was why she came here tonight.

She hadn't known how much she was going to want it.

Irene's words rang through the darkness.

'Feel free to make some noise.'

One.

_Lightning._

Forward.

_Molly's first time was in University. Like the majority of first times, it was a bit of a let down._

Curl.

_Molly's back arched. Her wax coating strained and cracked._

Back.

_She'd gone to an all girl's Catholic school. Her mother had sent her there deliberately, saying that with no boys about, Molly would avoid temptation. She was certainly proving that theory wrong tonight._

Two.

_Fire._

Forward.

_Her last time was with "Jim from I.T". They had gone on three dates, after all. That was hardly unusual. She hadn't known who he really was._

Scissor.

_All blasphemies and profanities were halted by the gag. Molly's moans were not._

Back

_Jim hadn't have felt nearly as amazing as this. And that had been her best so far._

Three

_Exsplosive_

Forward.

_She'd never even considered herself with a woman before today._

Spread.

_Molly couldn't contain her instinctive jerk. The leather bindings held her tight. What if she accidentally pulled her own arm from its socket?_

Back.

_Better question. _Why_, exactly, hadn't she considered herself with a woman before today?_

Four

_Rapture_

Forward

_The sheets beneath her were getting damp._

Twist. Roll. Splay.

_The french called it _La petite mort. _Now Molly knew why._

Back

"_It's only fun if sheets are ruined."_

Faster, firmer, harder, faster, firmer harder. Again, again, again.

The candles, the sheets, the gag, the wax, the skin, the shackles, the shakes, the sweat, the moans, the woman...

Irene, Irene, Irene.

_And then Molly died. Again._

_Her eyes closed in bliss._

_All that was left was silence._

Irene withdrew. Molly was panting heavily, and she could hear Irene doing the same. Even though Molly's knew it was physically, biologically and emotionally impossible, it seemed to her like Irene had enjoyed the experience just as much as she did.

Molly chastised herself for being so stupid, but then Irene's voice cut through her.

'Miss Molly.' the woman peeled off those wonderful gloves and dropped them on the floor. 'I'd like to thank you. I haven't had this much fun in a very long time. This may surprise you, but it get's lonely being dead. And look at that. You haven't thought of Sherlock Holmes for more than thirty seconds. Isn't that something?'

Irene lay down on top of Molly's prone body, the wax crackling between them as she leant her full weight against the other woman. Her hands slipped under Molly's torso, one hand squeezing Molly's naked breast, the other drawing small circles on the tender skin where her hip connected to her thigh. Molly didn't know which hand to focus on, and it was driving her insane. Irene lent her mouth against Molly's ear, letting her lips brush against it with every word she spoke.

'You have no idea,' Irene murmured, 'just how tempted I am to keep you here, all to myself.'

Molly's eyes snapped open. Irene continued.

'To lock you away like a princess in a story book. To keep you safe from men who bruise your delicate flesh,' Molly felt Irene's thumb run along her ribs before reaching up to her breast again, to roll Molly's nipple between her fingers, 'and detectives who let them. To keep you safe from the pain that you inflict on yourself, by your own giving nature. I would look after you, like you deserve. Feed you, clean you, dress you, play with you.' Molly bucked as the word "play" was accompanied by Irene's other hand reaching down and cupping her crotch, possessively. 'You would be like my own life-sized doll, Molly. Eventually the world would forget your name, and you would forget the world. Hell. Maybe I won't ever let you leave this bed again. Just keep you trust up exactly the way you are, until I come up with something fun for us to do. Sherlock Holmes isn't the only one who likes experiments, you know.'

Molly's breathing deepened and she groaned against her gag. She could feel herself shaking. For the first time that night, she felt afraid. Not nervous, not anxious, not self conscious, or embarrassed.

Utterly and truly, one hundred percent scared for her life. With her hands and feet shackled, and her mouth bound, there was nothing she could do to stop Irene doing exactly what she said she wanted to do. Molly couldn't fight, couldn't run couldn't even scream. Molly had just let herself walk in here. Let herself be tied down. This was all her fault and now she was completely at Irene's mercy.

And she hated the part of herself that was turned on my that idea.

Irene freed her hands from under Molly and sat up on her haunches, threading a tender hand through Molly's hair.

'Oh, don't look so frightened.' Irene said. 'I was only teasing. While you do look absolutely gorgeous spread out for me like this, I'm not going to kidnap you and use you for my own amusement.' Irene lent down closer to Molly's face. 'Unlike some of your friends, I'm not a sociopath.'  
Molly shuddered with relief and her whole body relaxed. Irene placed a small kiss on Molly's hairline.

'The thing is, I know the appeal of Sherlock, sweet-heart. I get it all too well. I can see why people like you, and John Watson, and DI Lestrade follow him so eagerly into battle. In your case, a little too eagerly. Don't get so caught up in Sherlock's gravity, that you're willing to let yourself get smashed to pieces for a man who barely looks at you. Don't allow yourself to become collateral damage. Because the next antagonist you come across, may not be as kindly disposed towards you as I am. Do you understand?'

It was strange hearing such sisterly advice from a woman who had just blown her mind with four fingers and a set of candles. Molly was too full of emotions to make any sort of reply besides a nod. She was learning that with Irene Adler, sometimes all you could do was nod.

'Good girl. Don't get comfortable yet, honey.' Irene smirked. 'I may not be planning to keep you, but you're still mine until morning. Besides,' Irene slid off Molly and sat on the edge edge of the bed to relight one of candles that had sputtered out. 'We haven't done your front yet. This time, I want to see your face.'

* * *

A/N: Yep. A sex filled slightly dark chapter. Also a moral. If you have never had a lesbian encounter in your life, and yet feel compelled to write one, try and make it as arty/incoherent as possible in the hopes no one will notice your lack of knowledge in this area. Hope I haven't completely misrepresented things for those in the know.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Hello again. Thanks for the faves, alerts and reviews again. Sorry for the wait. This fic was intend to be a bit shorter but we all know how these things go. We've got about two to three more chapters coming up after this so get ready.

* * *

Molly had never felt like this in her life. She was sticky, sweaty, wet, dirty and above all else, waxy. Irene had outdone herself with Molly's front, this time allowing Molly to see the array of colours as they were split across her pale skin. It really was like art; something modern, like a Jackson Pollack, if his paintings were done on a living, breathing, canvas. But Molly's fascination with the process slowly dwindled now that she was able to see Irene's face. Her face was serene yet focused on the task before her. Those storm grey eyes, normally so cold shrewd, were full of candlelight. Her robe had parted slightly, letting Molly catch glimpses of the woman's creamy collarbone, when she was positioned in the right angle.

Irene looked up and caught Molly's eye. Embarrassed that she had been caught staring (yeah, _that_was the part of this whole situation to feel awkward about) Molly quickly glanced away. Irene put the candle pack on the shelf and took Molly's chin in one hand, undoing the strap of the gag with the other. Molly couldn't contain a sigh as the thing was slipped out of her mouth.

'I take it I'm not holding your interest?' Irene asked. The question had an edge to it. Molly swallowed, Irene's hand still firmly under chin.

'No! I mean yes. Yes I'm still interested.'

'I'm going to all this trouble to decorate you and you weren't even watching.'

'I was watching.' Molly stumbled over the next few words, unsure as to whether they should be said allowed. 'I was watching you.'

It was barely a whisper but Irene's smile spread. She drew her hand away and lay down against Molly's side, not caring if that beautiful robe got ruined by the wax. Irene laid her head on her guest shoulder. 'Is that so?'

Molly licked her lips, determined to make full use of her mouth now it was free. 'Yes.'

'And what were you thinking as you watched me instead of my work?'

Molly was sure, with Irene this close to her face, the other woman could feel the heat of her own blush radiating from her face. When she didn't answer, Irene prompted again.

'Molly, tell me what you were thinking.'

'That you looked beautiful.'

Irene laughed. Molly turned her head to the side. She knew it sounded stupid. That's why she didn't want to say anything out loud. Irene's hand cupped her cheek and pulled Molly's gaze back to herself.

'Don't be offended. I wasn't laughing at you. I was just laughing at your choice of words.'

Molly's eyebrows furrowed. 'But you are. Someone must have told you that before.'

'Not beautiful, no. Sexy. Hot. Desirable. Arousing. Seductive. All of those things. But not beautiful. Beautiful has a different connotation that has nothing to do with eroticism. I haven't been classified as beautiful in a long time.'

Molly could see what Irene meant.

'Would you like to change your answer, Molly?'

Molly shook her head. 'I don't see why you can't be both.'

Irene laughed again and this time Molly didn't look away. Irene pressed her lips against Molly's shoulder.

'I like the way you think, Molly. I like you. You're a strange little mix of contradictions.' Irene sat up and began undoing Molly's leather restraints from the head-board. 'I was a pleasure to meet you.'  
Molly pulled her arms to her sides, her shoulders groaning in relief for the first time since she turned over, and sat up. Irene had her back to the pathologist, and was busy unshackling her feet  
to notice the twinge of disappointment that crossed her face.

'So... are we finished?' asked Molly. Irene turned around.

'Of course. I wasn't really going to keep you here forever, Molly.'

'I know that but...' Molly didn't know how she had planned that sentence to end so she just let it hang in the air while it died.

'Besides, Sherlock will be wondering why your not in Ettelbruck.'

'Oh, screw Sherlock.'

Molly's hand flew up to her mouth, unbelieving at what had just escaped it. Maybe Irene was a bad influence on her. Irene turned around, eyebrows raised.

'Molly. Did you just say...'

'Yes. But I didn't mean... I was just... It's been a long week and this was the first real break I've gotten...'

'Maybe you should be thanking Sherlock. After all, if it wasn't for him, you wouldn't have been here in the first place.'

Molly stiffened. 'I told you when I came here. Sherlock didn't want me to come.'

'Or so he said.' Irene looked at Molly side on. 'But we both know Sherlock. He knows how to make people do what he wants. Even if he never comes right out and says it.'

Molly felt as though her insides had suddenly become a bottomless pit and that all her organs were in freefall. 'You think he may have manipulated me into coming.' Molly said this to both Irene and herself, knowing that with Sherlock Holmes that was a definite possibility. He had learnt very quickly that a casual flirtation flung her way could get him any body part he wanted. It's not that far a leap between that and faking his death for him and not far between doing that and pimping Molly out for information.

Shit, was she really that gullible? Sherlock had said she counted but maybe she only counted because she was there and willing and easily dispensable.

Molly's mind was interrupted by the feeling of Irene's arm snaking around her shoulders.

'None of that Molly. Don't ruin all my hard work. You enjoyed yourself that's all that matters.'

Molly straightened, with a look of determination flashing across her face. 'Yes, it is. This is about me and you. And I want more.'

Irene looked at Molly. 'More?' Amusement rang through her voice.

'Yes. Unless you're tired or bored of me...'

'Molly I have been doing this for years. I am a marathon runner when it comes to sexual encounters.' Irene's fingers laced through Molly's hair. 'And I am nowhere near bored with you, Molly. Not when you're brimming with surprises and enthusiasm.'

'Then, if you want me to pay, I could wire you some money when I get back to London. Or write you a check.'

'That's enough, Molly.' Irene's voice was so sharp it almost gleamed. 'I'll not hear of you offering payment. If you are up for more, so am I. Financial transactions are not part of our arrangement and that's final.'

Molly dipped her head, silently agreeing to Irene's ultimatum.

'However, I was being gentle with you before. If we continue things could get a lot more, how should I put this… intense. Are you sure you want to take that route?'

Molly looked Irene in the eye, impelled to make her decision as definitive as she could.

'Yes. Miss Adler, this is what I want.'

Some sort of wicked delight played in Irene's eyes.

'This is going to be fun.'


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: REALLY sorry. Turns out employment is the anti-smut. So have a surprising chapter from a fic you thought was dead.

* * *

Molly had expected Irene to do _something_ after she'd tied the pathologist hands behind her back and attached the thick leather collar and leash around her neck. Not just retreat to the other end of the room and sit herself in a high-backed, leather, winged chair. But the woman had done just that and now she was sitting there expectantly, leash in hand, crossing her legs and gazing at her "captive" with eyes that could pin down a butterfly. Molly twisted her wrists, not in an earnest attempt to escape, but to test the bindings. There was no give, but Molly didn't expect any.  
Molly looked at the floor. Then looked at Irene. Then looked at the floor again.  
'Um... Is there something you want me to do?'  
'Obviously.'  
Molly remained where she was, hoping something would click into place. Nothing did.  
'Would you mind telling me? If it's not too much trouble.'  
There was a jolt as Irene gave a sharp tug at Molly's leash. 'No need to get snippy, honey. I'm just tired.'  
'Tired? I thought you said you were like a marathon runner. But with sex.'  
Irene's smile tilted upwards. 'I don't think I added the last part. Besides, even a marathon runner needs to hand over the baton occasionally. Now it's your turn.'  
Molly licked her lips. Was Irene honestly saying what she thought she was saying 'My turn?'  
'Yes indeed.'  
'But Irene I... I don't... I can't think of an appropriate running metaphor...'  
'Then don't use one.' Irene seemed like she was enjoying Molly's awkwardness a little too much. So she was a mental sadist as well as a physical one.  
'I haven't... been with a woman before. I don't know how this works. Okay, yeah I lied. I know how it works in theory, but I haven't had the same practice as you have and I don't...'  
'I, I, I, me, me, me, my, my, my.' Irene lent back in the chair looking bored with the whole conversation. She took a sip from a glass of ice water on a small stand, next to her chair. 'Molly, I don't mean to sound selfish but we've done your bit. Now it's my turn.'  
Molly nodded. She had been on that bed for hours. It seemed only fair that she pay back Irene in some way. 'I just don't think I can meet your, I dunno, your expectations.'  
'Is that all? Molly, I've been in this business a long time. Believe me when I say, out of everyone I've been with, there is no way you could possibly be the worst. Besides, that's not the point. I don't want you to be an expert.' Irene ran a finger along the arm of her chair. 'Ask me what I do want, Molly.'  
'What do you want,' Molly paused before adding. 'Miss Adler?'  
The "Miss Adler" made Irene's smile absolutely predatory.  
'I want you to do follow every order I give you. Exactly. Can you do that for me, Molly?'  
Molly realised how much she wanted to. 'Yes, Miss Adler.'  
'Good girl. Now. Undress me.'  
Molly wanted to. Oh, she wanted to. In fact the thought of peeling that dark sheer robe off Irene set all her neurons ablaze. But they both knew the problem with that. Molly shifted her shoulder to see whether it would give her any give to the binds on her wrist. It didn't do a thing.  
'Irene...'  
'Molly, you're are an intelligent, patient and creative individual. You don't need me to figure this out.'  
Molly nodded but her expression screamed that she didn't agree at all. She was meant to do something, but Molly had no idea what. Did Irene want her to escape the ties before she could touch her? What if she couldn't figure it out, and Irene -beautiful, stunning, sharp Irene- realised that there wasn't anything special about her. That Sherlock didn't choose her because she was interesting or different, but because Molly was convenient. That's why Moriarty had chosen her, after all. That was why Molly was the only person to know that Sherlock was alive. Soon Irene would work out what a mistake it had been asking for Molly, and send her back to Sherlock...  
Irene yanked on Molly's leash, and Molly almost lost her footing. Without her hands to steady her Molly thigh thudded into the arm of Irene's chair. Irene used the leash to pull Molly's face down, beside her own.  
'That's the trouble with brilliant minds. They're always finding new ways to tear themselves apart; with guilt, problems, questions or in some cases,' Irene lowered her voice, 'their own self doubt. Stop worrying about what others think of you -including me- and worry about the task at hand. "How are you going to get me naked?"'  
Irene didn't let Molly up, keeping her in this bowing position next to her. Molly could feel the blood start to pump to her face. She could concentrate in that position. Not with her hair hanging in her face and the smell of Irene's perfume on her neck and that neck so kissably close...  
Oh.  
It was so obvious now.  
Molly lent her mouth into the cool slope of Irene's neck, gently running her tongue against her artery. Irene gave Molly's collar some slack, allowing the pathologist's mouth to travel along her shoulder. Molly could not only hear Irene's voice as she spoke, but feel the vibrations in her body.  
'That's my girl.'  
Molly gently caught the lace on the robe's collar between her teeth, carefully, ever so carefully, so she wouldn't nip or scrape that pearly white skin. Slowly Molly tugged away the fabric over the curve of Irene's shoulder, then downwards until it reached the elbow. Molly could feel the shift of the chiffon as it glided across Irene's flesh, exposing more and more of the exquisite woman. When there was no more give in the robe, Molly released it and performed the same action along the other arm, suppressing with all her strength the thrill that charged through her as Irene's perfect breasts emerged from beneath the robe. Molly planted featherweight kisses as she went; collarbone, shoulder, bicep, tricep, elbow. All soft, salty and smelling exotic. A tug on the collar brings Molly out of her fixation.  
'My breasts, Molly.'  
'Yes, Miss Adler.'  
There was nothing forced or contrived about this exchange. It just seemed natural that Irene would give the order, and equally natural that Molly would follow it without question. The Woman opened her legs and Molly knelled between them, giving her better access to the area the Irene had demanded she focus on. Molly lent in, slowly and gently running the flat of her tongue along Irene's dark nipple. The sensation of the risen tissue against her tongue made Molly shiver uncontrollably. Molly was so caught up in her own arousal that she didn't notice Irene react in a similar fashion. Molly continued, her cheek and chin gently brushing against the soft curve of Irene's bosom as she proceeded. She could feel the steady breath of the other woman, expanding and contracting deeply, as her mouth close around the perfect circle and she began to suck. The nipple slowly transformed, becoming hard and firm under Molly attentions, her tongue continuing to caress the area while her lips drew it in. Molly was full of burning and want, and yet so satisfied and focused at the same time. There was nothing but silence, stillness and the task at hand.  
Her teeth accidentally grazed The Woman's teat. Molly sharply pulled back.  
'I'm sorry!' Irene gave the leash a tug that made Molly choke a little.  
'I didn't tell you to stop.' Molly felt a blush explode across her cheeks.  
'No, Miss Adler.' Molly lent forward but Irene pulled the pathologist back by the collar. Her grey eyes were all sternness and focus, but her pupils were so enlarged, Molly wondered whether they would spill out and engulf the rest of her iris.  
'Do the other.' Irene ordered. 'Exactly the same.'  
'Yes, Miss Adler.'  
'And Molly. Use your teeth again.'  
Molly nodded and continued her administrations on the other side. This breast seemed slightly fuller than the other, covering more of Molly face as she nuzzled into it. As Molly felt the smooth skin rub against the tip of her nose, she was overcome with the need to have her hands free. To feel Irene's tits against the palms of her hands. To rub them. To squeeze them until Irene begged for more. Molly had never understood men's obsession with boobs until tonight and now she was worried that she wouldn't be able to stop thinking about them. Suddenly the straps around her wrists seemed oppressive and unfair.  
A hand scooped under Molly's chin and lifted her face upward. Irene was staring down at her and smiling.  
'I can see you hands from here. You seem to be twisting them about a lot. Did I make them too tight?'  
'No, Miss Adler.'  
'Oh, so you just want your hands free to fondle me? Is that it?'  
Molly looked down. 'Yes, Miss Adler.'  
Irene's voice was full. 'You had your turn, remember. This is mine. I want you focused on giving me what I want.' As she said this, the Dominatrix freed her arms from her sleeves and shifted to the very edge of the seat. 'Finish undressing me.'  
Molly bent lower and bit onto the hem of Irene's robe and shuffled slightly backwards to give herself enough room. Irene lifted her weight off the seat allowing Molly to tug the robe from around Irene's hips, along her thighs and down her knees. At last the black robe was pooled on the floor around Irene's ankles. Finally Molly saw the woman completely naked in the dim candlelight. Bare, smooth and absolutely regal. The only marks that Molly could see on her body were the ones that Molly had suckled into life. It was like her own unique pattern, just like the one Irene had drizzled along her back. They were like the markings of a jungle cat, and it seemed to the pathologist that it suited Irene magnificently. But she needed more. Molly moved back between Irene's legs, tracing a kiss in the valley between Irene's breasts. A foot landed on Molly's shoulder and pushed her back, forcing the Pathologist back on her own heels.  
'We're finished with that.' Irene wrapped Molly's leash around her hand twice. Molly whined - _holy crap did I actually just whine? - _in disappointment, but then Irene's leg traveled along Molly's shoulder until her knee hooked around it. She swung the other leg over Molly's opposite shoulder and fixing the pathologist to the spot. 'It's time for a new game.'  
Irene yanked the leash down and Molly's face followed, her face landing right at the juncture between Irene's legs. Molly gasped in shock, becoming overwhelmed my Irene's scent. She felt the woman crossing her ankles at the centre of her back, locking Molly into this position, her thighs fitting tightly against Molly's jawline. Molly looked up at Irene with wide brown eyes. Irene's own eyes seemed to be filled with mischievous glee. She lent backwards, her pelvis still resting on the edge of the seat but her shoulder-blades lent against the chair's back. She rested her head on her left hand and laced her hand through Molly's hair with the right.  
'Firm, flat, broad strokes. Just as you were doing before.'  
Molly hesitated, then nodded, then breathed, then began. . She was terrified. She was aroused. She was terrified that she was aroused and aroused that she found this terrifying. She wanted to make a break for it. To push Irene off and to burst out the door. She wanted Sherlock to come and rescue her, no matter how humiliating that would be in the long run. She wanted to be at home, in bed, asleep.  
But those were all miniscule compared to her other emotions. Hunger. Need. Fascination. Curiosity. Lust. Admiration. Devotion. Determination.  
And most of all, Molly wanted to do this right.


End file.
